


Every Whisper, It's the Worst

by nightanddaze



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Developing Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightanddaze/pseuds/nightanddaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogers get injured defusing a bomb. James doesn't rescue him, but he's there after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Whisper, It's the Worst

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. There was this one time when I wrote 4k of A/O in a weekend, and while it hinted at maybe becoming a fully fleshed out story, it never really did. But I like it and wouldn't mind playing in this universe again. Thanks to [singlesrvngfrend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/singlesrvngfrend/pseuds/singlesrvngfrend) for reading through this a million years ago. Title from "Sweet Nothing" by Calvin Harris.

Rogers gets injured trying to defuse a bomb, and James hears about it while he’s sitting under an umbrella at his hotel in Cancun. He’s watching the man he’s tailing and considering putting on more sunscreen when his phone rings. The ID says Private, but the number is one of the SHIELD extensions.

“Hello,” he says airily, slouching on his deck chair.

“Barnes,” an agent says, “we have a situation.”

James slides down further, eyes on his mark, who appears to be trying to woo a bartender. He’s got a gun in the bag under his chair, and even covered in synskin, his left arm is entirely deadly.

“Sure,” he says, and risks a glance down. He can just see the trigger of his gun under whatever garbage novel Undercover Affairs packed for him. The mark accepts a drink in a coconut shell.

“We’re pulling you,” the agent says. “Effective immediately.”

He slouches further, fingertips in his bag, nudging the book over. He touches metal. “Why? We have a flight to Geneva in the morning.”

The guy leans on the bar, smiling. His back is one big, ugly sunburn. In Geneva, he’s going to try and sell classified blueprints and James has been looking forward to busting him for the entire three months he’s been on this case.

“It’s Rogers,” the agent says brusquely. She clears her throat. “He’s been hurt.”

James draws his hand away from his gun. He sits up. The mark walks away, pocketing the bartender’s number. Suddenly, James’ head hurts.

He swings his knees off the chair. “What did he do?”

She snorts at his tone. “He stepped in front of a poorly-made pipe bomb with every intention of disarming it, but he was…distracted.”

“Did someone go for his jaw or his balls?” Historically, these have been Captain America’s weak spots.

“Neither,” she says. “He started his rut a few days ago and let it get the best of him. One of the bad guys was an omega and he didn’t move away fast enough and took most of the force of the explosion.”

James thinks up several creative curses in his mind, but before he can say any of them or call Rogers stupid, the agent says, “He didn’t advise us it was upcoming when he took the mission. “ She pauses meaningfully. “Neither did you.”

“How should I know about his rut cycle?” James snaps, picking his bag up. Right after he says it he looks around, but no one’s looking at him, or listening to his odd conversation.

“You’re Rogers’…” she starts to say, and then hesitates, sensing his frostiness over the phone. There are several ways to finish that sentence: _omega_ , _mate_ , or even just stopping at _Rogers’_. None of those options are acceptable. 

“Whatever,” she finally says, which is acceptable. He can be Rogers’ _whatever_. “We need to bring you in so he’ll cooperate. He needs to be treated and debriefed before we can release him to you.”

James swears, but only twice and in Russian. “How far out is he? I have to be back before him.” Rogers’ ignorance of James’ work is of incredible importance. If he finds out, he’ll get involved and fuck everything up, probably get them both killed.

“Five hours,” she says. “Start packing now. We’re trying to figure out how to retrieve you.”

James swears some more. The agent chuckles at him and he starts again.

*

There’s some discussion of getting Iron Man to come pull him out, but James has been told that he only gets one free ride and he doesn’t want to waste his on Steve Rogers’ bullheadedness.

In the end, they charter a jet that goes much faster than it should in American airspace. James has a cocktail and reads some of the trashy novel while he waits.

*

He gets to SHIELD while Rogers is still forty minutes out. It’s just enough time to turn in all his trappings to UA and do as much of a debriefing as is possible in a boardroom that seats three people. The entire time his phone is vibrating on the table, pushing through all the messages he missed on his flight.

Rogers, covered in lacerations and bruises, half blind and deaf from the explosion, is refusing medical treatment.

Rogers’ healing factor is working, but slowly. In response to stress and the changing air pressure though, his rut is ramping up.

Rogers is refusing treatment for that as well. Won’t even look at the omega agent on-board.

He’s suffering and he’s asking for you. Be ready.

They release him with ten minutes to go and a promise that he’s not off the case.

“Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be back right after my Captain America duty is over.”

The agents say nothing. James outranks them, so they should laugh at his joke, but Captain America outranks him and someone’s cycle is nothing to laugh about.

He waits inside the terminal, watching the jet come in. Next to him is the agent that told him he was coming back. She’s monitoring some kind of schedule on a tablet. James looks at the doors.

First out is a slow stream of agents, some suited, and some dressed for combat. Many of the combat agents are injured, scrapes on their faces and bandages on arms, bellies, and one face. No one looks happy or relieved to be out of the field.

Which means Rogers really fucked this one up. 

He’s the last one out of the doors. He’s being helped along by an agent dressed in a combat suit, but her badge is white, signaling she’s part of the medical team. Even from fifty paces, James can see how rough of shape Rogers is in. His right arm is clamped to his ribs and the suit is cut all over, most of them lined in blood. His neck and face are gleaming with sweat and there are cuts and bruises all over there too. The skin around his eyes is red and he’s looking down, concentrating on moving forward, not losing his footing.

James watches, aware of the agent beside him watching him. He doesn’t move. The agent holding Rogers up stops him ten feet away and says something to him, her mouth right against his ear so he’ll hear.

Rogers’ head rears up and it takes a moment for his vision to track properly, but then he sees James and he looks like someone just took a boulder off his shoulders. 

“Rogers—“ James says, and then his arms are full. Rogers presses against him fully, clinging and taking great huffing breaths in his neck. He smells like hot asphalt and cinnamon, his rut smells, and it’s like a hook setting inside James’ guts.

“God,” Rogers says, his voice broken. “God, I need you. Bucky.”

He’s shivering all over and his crotch is jagging up against James’ hip, just from embracing in a SHIELD terminal.

James means to snap how that’s not his name, but there’s no point. Rogers is out of his damn mind.

He rubs Rogers’ spine. “All right. Come on. We’ll go. I’ll help you.”

Rogers sighs shakily, leaning on him.

 _Debrief in fifteen_ , the agent with the tablet mouths to James.

*

He takes Rogers into one of the empty cells down on Level 8 and gets down on his knees so Rogers can mark his face and his throat. Rogers makes sounds like he’s hurting, even though James has been told there’s nothing wrong with his hands or his cock, and it doesn’t look like he’s hurt, given how fast his hand moves, how much he comes.

When it’s done, he smears his semen on James’ skin, even sliding a messy hand down the front of James’ pants to mark there too. He’s rough when he does that, but then he’s cooperative in the debrief, almost docile, sitting there with his hand resting on James’ nape.

But then, what does he have to worry about? James reeks of him so badly he might as well have let Rogers fuck him, if they’d had the hour to tie. 

No one bats an eye. They tell Rogers he acted recklessly and only avoided getting blown to hell because he’s Captain America. He’s lucky no one else got seriously injured and they found the hard drives they were looking for. 

They chastise Rogers thoroughly and he just takes it, rubbing his thumb on James’ neck.

*

In the hallway after the debrief, Rogers stops him and pulls him close. He smells James’ temple and his neck. For a moment, James is afraid that Rogers is ready to go again, eight hours too early. But Rogers just scents him and kisses his jaw.

“I want to go home,” Rogers murmurs.

“Medical,” James tells him, no arguing.

*

“He should be physically back to normal within seventy-two hours, if he eats and sleeps, and combat-ready in a week, once all signs of his rut are gone.”

The doctor snaps off her penlight and tucks it into her lab coat. James glances at her badge. Her name is Mackay. While she taps something into her tablet, Rogers blinks, his pupils dilating back to normal.

“I feel fine,” he says. He’s looking better by the minute and no one needs to guide his sight or speak louder than usual. Dressed in street clothes, he looks pretty much like his regular self, if a little battered.

“Of course you do,” Mackay says. She leans on her desk. “You’re not flying any more and he’s here. “ She points to James with her stylus. “Why didn’t you tell us you’d be at the peak of your cycle during the mission?”

Rogers looks at James, then at Mackay. “I didn’t know. I’ve always been more regular than him and my last one was when it should be.”

Mackay makes a note. “You didn’t notice the symptoms?”

Rogers looks odd then, guilty and confused. “We’ve...only been apart for it once in our adult lives. It didn’t feel the same without him.” He glances at James, then down. It might still be bomb-rash, but James thinks Rogers is flushing.

Mackay’s eyebrows are raised and she’s tapping away quickly. “Only once? That’s a feat, Captain Rogers.”

James raises his eyebrows too. He’d like to know what calendar Rogers is going by. Because even though his memories are roughshod, he knows he’s fucked other Alphas in the last seventy years.

Rogers rubs his thigh. “Yeah, it was right after I got the serum.”

Something prickles in James’ mind, but he tries to ignore it. Those prickles flower when they want; he can’t force the memories to come. He’s pulled back from that by Rogers’ hand finding his. He looks over to see Rogers smiling apologetically at him. He looks more sorry than he has all day.

James looks to Mackay for guidance on what he missed, but she’s writing notes.

“May I be released?” Rogers asks. 

Mackay takes a break from tapping to look everything over. 

“Yes,” she says finally. “Go home. Barnes, bring him in when he’s done.”

“Once my duty’s over,” he says sourly, but lets Rogers keep his hand on the way out.

*

Rogers is happy to be home. James knows it, even though Rogers doesn’t say a word. He walks through the house, possessively touching the walls and furniture and his smell turns clear and piney. He ends up near James, his face the picture of satisfaction.

James evaluates the house, but it looks the same as usual. He was here barely a day after Rogers left before leaving for his own mission. But Rogers’ home and nesting instincts are incredibly strong, especially compared to his basically non-existent ones, and James has never claimed to understand Alphas, especially not ones like Rogers.

*

It comes to him in the shower. He saw the footage. However many years ago and for whatever reason, they sat him down in a room and played him the film reel. 

Steve Rogers, codename Captain America, in his boxer shorts and sweating. His hands cupped in front of his erection. The doctor asked him what he wanted and he closed his eyes, swallowed and asked to see Bucky. It wasn’t possible, sorry, but how about this?

A small, blonde, female omega entering, just in a gown. She talked to Rogers, gently, assuring him, and then kissed him. They fucked enthusiastically after that, and multiple times, he thinks. It’s in pieces in his mind, so he has no idea how long it was, or if they just looped the reel. Sometimes they did that when they showed him things.

There had been a file too, on the table in front of him. Detailing the whole experience, and other physical tests they’d done on Rogers.

 _Preventative measures taken_ , the file had said. _No pregnancy resulted from couplings SR1A-H._

He wonders if they knew it was him Rogers asked for at the beginning of the film. If that’s why they showed it to him. He can’t remember how he reacted.

*

He comes into the bedroom as Rogers is getting into bed, even though it’s early. They’ll need the rest though, for the next couple of days.

“I remember,” he says, hanging his towel on the bathroom door handle.

Rogers, naked and just pulling the covers up, goes, “What?” 

James pushes his hair back, stretches out his left shoulder, his spine. “The time you didn’t have Bucky. I guess the scientists on your project recorded that rut, and my handlers showed it to me.”

Rogers blanches. “Why would they do that?” he asks. He frowns at James, like James had the clearance or presence of mind to ask.

“Who knows? Maybe they had a psychic on the payroll that knew you’d come back some day and they wanted me to be ready. Maybe they figured out it was me you asked for. Maybe I actually watched hundreds of people mate so they could record my reaction to couples. They were scientists. Any excuse to gather data.”

Rogers looks doubtful.

“Your scientists measured exactly how much you came in that woman, each time.”

Rogers raises his eyebrows. The bomb-rash flush comes back. “How do you know that?”

James sits down on his side of the bed. “I told you. I remember. It was in the file.” He turns the light off and for a second it’s so dark he feels adrift. He has to blink to bring the layers of shadows out, see the familiar shapes in the room.

“What did you do?” Rogers asks behind him, drawing the covers down for James.

Curling his legs under the blankets and sliding down, James says, “Probably went and shot whomever I was supposed to shoot right between the eyes and forgot all about it.”

There’s a moment where James can feel the tension in Rogers; he hates it when James talks like this. But all he does is lay the covers down and move closer until James is smelling him and soaking in his body heat.

Rogers cups his hip and leans in to press dry lips to James’ throat, kissing that tender place tenderly.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispers, “I’m still sorry I did that to you.”

James can’t tip his head down to look at Rogers because his face is in the way and he can’t laugh, because that would be cruel. But the idea that he would be jealous over Rogers fucking another omega so long ago, doing what he had to do while Bucky was half a world away, is ridiculous.

He could remind Rogers that part of creating the Winter Soldier was destroying the bond between Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, and while that probably meant he didn’t go into heat for a while, maybe even a couple of years, eventually he did. And the Winter Soldier certainly didn’t beg to see Steve Rogers when he did. James could do that, but Rogers isn’t stupid, so he knows that, has had it thrown in his face before.

There’s no point hurting Rogers, not here in Rogers’ bed, with Rogers counting on him.

In the end, he lets it go. They kiss for a while before they sleep instead of talking about it anymore. In between kisses and in a voice that’s starting to slur, Rogers tells him the bed smells good, like _you_ , like _us_ , and he missed James while he was gone. It’s all heat-coaxing, the animal part of Rogers trying to bring on a heat in James so their cycles will line up as they should, cement the bond that should run two ways instead of just one.

It won’t work. It hasn’t in the past and James doesn’t feel any pre-heat coming on, but Rogers is warm and sweet and it does feel good to have been missed.

*

When SHIELD first passed James over to Rogers, and he didn’t know a damn thing about himself, Rogers was more than happy to tell James about the person he was supposed to be, this Bucky Barnes, and the life they’d had together. They shared a bed whenever they could, as a way to stay warm and close. A full bed was a good place.

A nest, Rogers had said, his voice full of yearning.

James could understand that one, but he had less goodwill toward Rogers telling him that they both tended to start the peak of their cycles at night, when they were together and safe in the dark. James had scoffed at him. The night wasn’t safe. You could kill anyone at night, especially if they were tangled up with their lover and wrapped in a blanket of false security.

As stupid as that may be, some habits hold true, so James isn’t surprised to feel Rogers’ hands on him in one of the quiet hours before dawn. 

His brain snaps awake, but his body is still heavy with sleep and relaxed. He turns slowly into Roger’s hands, presses against his sweaty body. The smell of summer-sun asphalt and spice is back, stronger now that they’re in a closed room and naked. The hook in James’ insides jerks.

“Shh.” His mouth is clumsy, tired, and there’s no reason to be quiet. He doesn’t think SHIELD currently has Rogers’ house bugged, and if they do, they’re not listening for the sounds of James and Rogers mating. He just does it to do it, same with stroking Rogers’ flank.

Roger’s butts his nose against James’ jaw. “Are you ready?” He feels down James’ back, fingers finding his dry asshole and rubbing it. His cock rubs on James’ belly, leaking wet.

“No,” James murmurs, backing out of Rogers’ embrace. Rogers grabs at him, but James guides his hands down. “Just wait.” He gets to his knees, then his feet, and walks until he hits the cold tiles of the bathroom. The lubricant is in the medicine cabinet. James finds it by the shape of the cap. 

He doesn’t waste time playing or teasing, just bends a little over the counter and fills himself full of fingers. For a moment, it’s too much, but then his body welcomes the feeling.

In the bed, Rogers makes a needy, huffing protest. 

“I want to see,” he says greedily. 

James snorts, but flicks the light on anyway. He meets his own eyes in the mirror, then looks away, to Rogers’ bright, dazed eyes. Rogers watches his hand move and his whole body arches, ready to have.

“Please,” he pants, looking at James’ hand, his face.

James looks at his cock, how slippery it is. It’s so wet that if James was in heat, like he probably should be, they wouldn’t need this step. They could mate without all this fuss, probably still half-asleep and comfortable. He swallows and pulls his fingers out.

He turns the light off on Rogers’ second protest, walks back over the carpet to the bed. The sheets, when he pulls them down, are sweaty, and the whole bed feels hot because of Rogers in the middle of it.

“You drive me crazy,” Rogers groans, reaching out to hold his hips.

James runs his palm over Rogers’ belly, through the mess of precome he’s left. “You’re foolish. If you woke me up sooner, you wouldn’t feel so bad.”

“No,” Rogers insists, “I-“

James pulls his hand off Rogers. “You want me on my knees or my stomach?”

Rogers groans again. “Down.” His hands tug James down until he’s flat and Rogers can roll over his back. His skin is hot on James like a fire, from his hand holding James’ wrist down to his chest, to his cock, digging into James’ thigh in sharp thrusts.

“James-“ he whimpers, lost.

“Shh,” James murmurs. “Relax. Give me my hand.”

Rogers releases him reluctantly, but whimpers again when James gets that hand on his cock, like he wasn’t expecting the touch. He flexes hard, harder still when James guides his cock. Still, the first thrust in feels rough, and makes James clench his teeth. It doesn’t hurt, but Rogers is over-eager, fucking too hard in the wrong direction.

Burying his face in James’ hair, Rogers almost sobs at the feeling. He slides his body more firmly on top of James’, and that eases the stretch. He fumbles for James’ wrist again and holds it, desperately but not firmly, fingers resting on James’ pulse.

“Okay?” he asks urgently, voice shaking.

James turns his face a little. He feels full, but relaxed, ready for this. “Mmhmm. You’re good.”

Rogers makes a hoarse sound of pleasure at that and rolls his hips once, twice, spreading the slickness between them, before he lets his instincts take over. Then his thrusts turn short, barely pulling out before he thrusts back in, the movements concentrated to stimulate his knot.

He makes it scarcely a minute before he’s making hurting sounds into the skin of James’ shoulder and straining. James stays still, just breathing. He’s aroused too, but Rogers’ need is too big right now for James to focus on himself. The first couple of times they mate during a heat or a rut are always overwhelming, one of them struggling with the surge of hormones while the other lags behind. He can wait.

Rogers’ breath picks up and his hips start jerking. He’s trembling.

“Please, oh—“ he moans. But there’s no time to give him permission before he cries out again, his body locking over James’ as he starts to come.

Rogers curls over James and humps his hips in hard. His knot swells so quickly it makes James lose his breath. It still doesn’t hurt, but the stretch is something else, all-encompassing.

Rogers is making soft noises though, like it’s hurting _him_ , and for all James knows, it is. He’s never asked any Alpha what it feels like to tie. It feels good for him, and that’s what he cares about.

He does shake Rogers’ hand off his wrist though and reach back to cup Rogers’ broad thigh.

“There,” he says. “Settle down.”

Slowly, Rogers loses his lock. His tension melts and he nestles close to James, nose in his hair, catching his breath and scenting James. 

They have close to an hour like this, James knows from experience, and it’s largely a quiet time. James could talk, but Rogers is nowhere near coherence, so he saves his breath. Instead, he settles in and closes his eyes, letting Rogers play with his fingers and lick his nape.

Almost dozing, he still knows the moments when Rogers comes. He can’t feel it inside, just the tightness of the knot. But each time, Rogers pushes his hips in as close as he can and sighs, sharply at first, but trailing into bliss. Rogers nips him once on an exhale, and he twitches because it feels nice.

“Mmm.” Rogers does it again, and mouths his shoulder. He abandons James’ fingers to touch the point of his hip, and then James’ cock.

He’s not really aware of the ache until Rogers touches him, but then his cock feels like a metal bar stuck between his belly and the bed. Rogers makes a sound in his throat and catches James’ cock in his hand and moves his fist. Rogers’ hand jerking him off feels so good he’s gasping as soon as it starts. 

Rogers croons to him, calling him sweet names in a deep voice, and kisses his neck until he comes. They both grunt at the feeling of James’ body squeezing the knot.

After a little bit longer than James imagined, Rogers’ knot softens enough to let him pull out. He immediately touches James there, feeling the wetness, making a low, pleased sound.

James pushes him away, but doesn’t put much effort into it, too relaxed to care. It only feels a little tender anyway. He should get up and shower, but Rogers is already turning his body and laying possessive hands on him. Plus, he knows Rogers likes the smell of it and he’s going to be a mess for the next few days, so there’s no point in even starting a fight he’ll never win.

Rogers nuzzles and kisses his mouth. The pheromones in his saliva are so potent James can taste the bitterness of them.

“I love you,” Rogers whispers, his hand on James’ nape.

He’s still out of his mind, so James just strokes his side to soothe any leftover trembles. 

“Shh,” he says, “shh.”


End file.
